


"This is going to hurt."

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [29]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cute Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Don't Post To Another Site, Honey I shrunk Mycroft, M/M, Magical Realism, Mystrade Monday Prompts, Tea Parties, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: A continuation of "Please help me."Greg and Mycroft, now the size of Greg's thumb, make their way to 221B Baker Street in hopes Sherlock can rectify the situation.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862299
Comments: 22
Kudos: 81





	"This is going to hurt."

Greg opened the front door to the 221 Baker Street and heaved a sigh of relief as he slipped inside. “Almost there, love. You okay.”

“I’m fine,” Mycroft reassured Greg from his perch on Greg’s shoulder.

The car ride over had been a bit nerve-wracking but nothing unusual had happened. Greg’s earlobe was a bit sore from Mycroft tweaking it every time Greg made a turn Mycroft disagreed with. Greg finally snapped he thought it pretty rich that Mycroft was being such a backseat driver when he couldn’t even reach the pedals.

“Right, just up the stairs and— Hello Mrs. H!” Greg quickly pivoted as he heard the door of the downstairs flat open. He felt Mycroft seek shelter behind his left ear.

“Hello Greg, are you here to see Sherlock? Silly question, of course you are.”

“Yes, we are—“ Greg felt a nasty pinch and resisted the urge to swat at the spot behind his ear. “I mean, I am. Here to see Sherlock. He’s home, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he’s been home all week. Stewing and complaining that he’s nothing to do.’

“Oh good, good.” Greg started to edge his way up the stairs.

“I hope you have a case for him,” Mrs. Hudson opined. “I almost offered him one of my herbal soothers, but John wouldn’t approve.”

“No, no case, but I do have a bit of problem for him to solve.” Greg went up a few more steps still angled awkwardly. “I’m in a bit of rush about it actually.” He waved and took the last couple of steps two at a time.

“Oh I hope it’s a hard one,” Mrs. Hudson called after him.

“Still with me?” Greg whispered, before he opened the door to the flat.

“Barely, but yes.”

Greg held his hand palm up by his shoulder and felt Mycroft crawl into the palm. He brought his hand down slowly to look at Mycroft. “You look a little green, love. Are you feeling alright?”

“A bit shoulder-sick. I’ll be glad to stand on something solid and not moving.”

Greg looked concerned. “Poor lamb.” He kissed the tip of his index finger on the other hand and gently touched the top of Mycroft’s head. Mycroft smiled wanly.

Greg rapped on the flat door and opened it without waiting for an answer. “Sherlock!” He called out.

“Kitchen, Graham.”

Greg rounded the corner to the stand in the kitchen entrance.

Sherlock stood by the kettle preparing a cup of tea. “Do you have a case?” He asked hopefully.

Greg reigned in his temper, and managed not to start shouting immediately. He glanced at Mycroft in his palm, and saw the man had gone from green to red. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s the Case of The Incredibly Shrinking Mycroft.” He held out the hand holding Mycroft for Sherlock to see.

Sherlock set down his mug, and stared at Mycroft standing in Greg’s palm, scowling with his arms akimbo.

* * *

“Uncle My-My would you like some tea?” Rosie asked solemnly. She knelt at the coffee table, holding her plastic tea pot full of water aloft.

“Yes, Rosamund. ‘Tea’ would be lovely.” Mycroft, perched on doll sized chair, held out a plastic cup matching the tea pot. Rosie carefully poured a few drops of water into the cup.

Greg smiled as Rosie proceeded to offer ‘tea’ to him and the other guests at her party, a pink stuffed rabbit appropriately named Hop and a stuffed otter called Oslo. Mycroft looked up at Greg and gave a small shrug. “Any progress in there?” He took sip of water.

Greg looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen where Sherlock and John were mixing and brewing. “Yeah, they think they’ve got the right ingredients and ratios. They’re just trying to figure how long to brew it. They sent me out to ask if you remember how long you let the tea steep.”

Mycroft thought a moment before answering. “Four minutes, and I added a teaspoon of honey to my cup.”

“Honey? What kind?” Sherlock had come out to hear Mycroft’s answer.

“From Musgrave Hall,” Mycroft replied.

“John, stop!” Sherlock called as he hurried back into the kitchen. “We need to account for honey.”

“Uncle My-My, Oslo wants to know if you’d like some of the fish-cake he brought?” Rosie offered a small plate with a few small squares of sponge.

“No, thank you, Oslo,” Mycroft addressed the otter. “However, I’m positive Uncle Greg would like some,” Mycroft suggested with a smile.

Greg mustered some enthusiasm and gamely took a square, ignoring the clatter of broken pottery from the kitchen.

* * *

“So this will do it, you think?” Greg asked anxiously as Sherlock dripped some viscous liquid into the plastic cup Mycroft had been using during the tea party. It was late and had been a long day for all concerned. Everyone was tired. John sat on the sofa next to Greg, Rosie was half asleep in his lap.

“Yes. Well, probably.” Sherlock handed the tiny cup to Mycroft still sitting on one of Rosie’s doll chairs on the coffee table. “Now, this is going to hurt,” Sherlock warned Mycroft.

Mycroft took the cup and sniffed the contents.

“Hurt?” Greg growled.

“Don’ hurt My-My,” Rosie roused herself to plead sleepily.

“It won’t hurt him, Rosie. It’ll help Mycroft go back to his normal size. Right, Sherlock?” John gave his partner a stern look.

“Yes, absolutely.” Sherlock backtracked. “Don’t worry Watson, Mycroft will be as big as ever.”

Greg shot Sherlock a glare.

Mycroft looked up at his brother, John and Rosie, and finally at his husband. “Salut!” He lifted the cup and drank down the potion.

* * *

“Another egg, love, or would you like more beans and toast?” Greg stood at the cooker grinning at Mycroft, who had just polished off two plates of breakfast.

“Mmm… just toast with marmalade. I think I’m finally starting to feel full,” Mycroft replied as he wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“Coming up.” Greg put more bread in the toaster and poured himself a cup of tea. He sat down with Mycroft as he waited for the toast to be done. “It’s so nice to see you life size again.”

“It’s nice to be life size again,” Mycroft concurred.

“Is the pain all gone?” Greg asked.

Mycroft looked at his hand and flexed his fingers. “Yes, and it wasn’t terrible to begin with.”

“I’m glad Rosie was asleep before it hit.” Greg got up to check on the toast.

“Yes,” Mycroft agreed and then snickered.

Greg chuckled as well. “Sherlock’s face when you outgrew your clothes.”

“That was priceless,” Mycroft agreed.

Greg returned to the table with buttered toast topped with marmalade. He placed the plate in front of Mycroft and gave Mycroft a hug. Mycroft leaned against Greg’s hip.

“I’m so glad you’re safe and whole again,” Greg murmured. He moved back to his chair.

“As am I.” Mycroft took a bite of toast. “There does appear to be one lingering effect.”

“Oh?”

Mycroft stretched his legs out from the table. His pajama bottoms ended well above his ankle. “I seem to have gained an extra inch of height.”

“Oh, Sherlock’s going to hate that,” Greg laughed.


End file.
